


This Soul With Sorrow Laden

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, First Time (possibly dubcon because Dean is a ghost), Ghost Dean Winchester, M/M, Major Character Death (occurs off-screen before the start of the fic and is not permanent), POV Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 03 AU, Psychic Sam Winchester, Top Dean, Top Sam, Wincest (Sam/ghost!Dean)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: When Dean’s deal comes due, he dies and gets stuck in the veil. Sam wants to fix things, get Dean back into his body, but Dean doesn’t agree. With the help of a psychic friend, the Winchesters begin a new phase in their lives (or deaths, in Dean’s case). But Sam has a nagging feeling that something isn’t right. And what does that say about them that learning to live with (and love) Dean in his new form isn’t even the weirdest thing that Sam’s ever done?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 27
Kudos: 56
Collections: Supernatural Eldritch Bang





	This Soul With Sorrow Laden

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU for what happens after Dean’s death at the end of Season 3. The title is from “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe. Chapter headings from “The Sound of Silence,” by Simon & Garfunkel. Many thanks to [spunsugarJ2fantasy](https://spunsugarj2fantasy.tumblr.com/) for the art and to [firesign10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firesign10/pseuds/firesign10) for the beta!

//**//**//

_Hello Darkness, my old friend_

//**//**//

It starts with cold spots.

Sam’s just buried his brother — shallow grave, careful markers, determined to find a way to bring him back. He sees his breath as he walks from the grave, but he’s too consumed with grief to notice.

“Dean’s gonna need his body when I figure out a way to bring him back,” he tells Bobby.

Bobby looks at him funny, but Sam doesn’t say another damn thing.

The first thing Sam does after he buries his brother is to try to summon a crossroads demon, to make a deal to get Dean back. He plans to offer to go to Hell in Dean’s place. He’ll do whatever the demon wants, if it’ll get his brother topside again.

It doesn’t work. Nothing happens.

Sam tries again and again at various crossroads, but gets the same lack of response.

Apparently, the demons aren’t interested.

Sam begins researching necromancy, how to bring people back from the dead, how to reanimate a corpse, the whole nine yards. He knows Dean would hate him for it, but Sam doesn’t care. He’ll deal with Dean’s disapproval after he gets Dean back.

At first, the constant flickering lights are nothing more than a nuisance. For two weeks, Sam ignores them, too obsessed and miserable with grief to recognize them as signs, even though they seem to follow him around everywhere. He’s drunk most of the time, so when he catches a glimpse of Dean out of the corner of his eyes, he figures it’s just a drunken illusion. He never remembers it the next day anyway.

Doesn’t matter where Sam is — in a motel, in a diner, standing under a freakin’ street lamp. Flicker, flicker, flicker.

At night, Sam dreams in vivid, hallucinatory detail. Ordinary moments from their lives appear in moving, full-color snapshots. They’re sitting in the car, Dean driving, then across from each other at a diner. They’re hunting, whacking off vamp heads in some dark warehouse. Dean talks to him, looks at him, stares holes into Sam’s eyes, but in the dreams it feels normal so he doesn’t think about it. In the dreams, Sam wallows in the normal moments, desperately holding onto the fragments of familiar places and things when the dream starts to fade.

In the morning, Sam catches Dean’s shadow out of the corner of his eye as he researches how to bring dead people back. He hears Dean’s voice in his head, clearer than his own thoughts, but he figures he’s hallucinating.

Then, a month after Dean’s death, Sam hears Dean yell at him.

“Damn it, Sammy! Listen to me!”

In the silence of the motel room, just a few hours after dark, Dean’s voice is unnaturally loud. Clear. Sam looks up from his book, sees his breath. The light flickers.

Finally, his foggy, grief-stricken brain puts two and two together.

“Dean?”

The light flickers again, almost in response, and the room gets noticeably colder.

“Oh my God, Dean, are you _here?_ ”

Sam closes his eyes, concentrates, and hears Dean say, “Figure it out, Sammy! Come on! You can do this!”

Dean’s voice is far off, as if he’s speaking from the other end of a long tunnel, but Sam can hear him.

Dean’s here.

The cold spots and flickering lights make sense now. Sam could kick himself for not figuring it out sooner. But now that he has, he doesn’t waste any time.

Turning off the lights in the room, Sam stretches out on the bed in the dark, determined to focus all his nascent psychic energy on the task at hand. He lies still on the bed with his eyes closed, concentrates on his brother, and after a few moments he’s almost certain Dean’s right there.

“Dean? Is that you?”

“Hey, Sammy.”

Sam keeps his eyes closed, lies still in the dark, evens his breathing so that all of his energy is focused on the presence he’s been feeling for the past month.

His brother.

“What are you doing here?”

Dean huffs out a breath, and Sam swears he hears the squeak of Dean’s leather jacket. Sam smells gun oil and aftershave.

“Guess I couldn’t leave,” Dean admits. His voice is low, rumbly, filling the silence of the motel room with the familiar sound of home.

Sam squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears. “Missed you.”

Dean clears his throat. “I was always right here, Sammy,” he says. “Even Hellhounds couldn’t drag me away.”

“Yeah.”

Sam draws a shaky breath, breathes out on a huff. The room is cold. If he opens his eyes, he’ll probably see his breath.

“So, you’re a ghost,” he suggests.

Dean doesn’t answer for a moment, and Sam smells his brother’s sweat. Dean’s scared.

“Yeah,” Dean says. “I suppose I am.” He hesitates, then says, “I guess that’s not the news you were hoping for.”

Sam resists the urge to open his eyes. Dean’s right there. Sam can smell him. Sam feels the weight of his body filling the air next to the bed.

“It’s okay,” Sam says, relief and hope replacing his grief. Dean’s here. He’s okay. He didn’t go to Hell after all. “We’ll make it work.”

“Sammy...” Sam knows that tone. He knows what Dean’s thinking.

“No!” Sam’s eyes fly open, and for a moment he’s startled to see nothing. No one’s there.

He feels the loss like a knife to the heart.

“We’ll figure it out, Dean,” he whispers into the silence, the emptiness. “We’ll figure it out.”

//**//**//

_I’ve come to talk with you again_

//**//**//

“I buried you,” Sam says the next night. He spent the day researching, looking for some way to improve communication with a ghost. “I’ve been trying to find a way to bring you back ever since.”

“I was here all along,” Dean answers. “Right after I died. I saw what Lilith tried to do to you.”

“Wait. You _saw_ that?” Sam blushes. His powers embarrass him. He doesn’t understand them, except that he thinks they’re linked to the evil inside him, so they must be evil, too.

He’s pretty sure Dean thinks that, anyway.

“It’s all right.” Dean lets out a nervous chuckle. “Lucky for me you’re psychic enough to hear me. I was starting to get a little worried.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Yeah.” He bites his lip. “What I don’t understand is, if you’re here, you didn’t go to Hell.”

Sam can almost feel Dean’s shrug. “I guess so.”

“So your deal...”

Dean lets out a sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sammy. All I know is, I’ve been here with you the whole time since I died. Never went to Hell.”

Sam nods. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m relieved that you’re not burning in Hell, but I can’t help wondering what happened. And if...”

The bedsprings squeak as Dean sits down next to him on the bed. Sam can almost feel him sit back, propped up against the headboard with his ankles crossed, his hands resting on his belly. If he were corporeal, Dean’s shoulder would be pressed against Sam’s.

“You’re thinking the other shoe’s gonna drop,” Dean suggests. “It’s not enough that I died. Hell wants my soul.”

Sam’s throat closes up. He’s just found out his brother’s been with him all along, even if he _is_ a ghost. The prospect of losing him again feels too cruel. Nevertheless, he needs to make the suggestion.

“Maybe we should do some research, find out what happens when a soul doesn’t get collected.”

“Or we just leave things the way they are.” Dean says with a nervous chuckle. “Call it a win.”

Sam’s shocked. “You’re a ghost!”

“Yeah? At least I’m still here,” Dean mutters, and Sam can almost see him shrug again.

“Dean, you know what happens to ghosts.”

“And I worried about it until you finally heard me,” Dean admits. “Now? Not so much. Maybe this is a good thing.”

“How is your being a ghost a good thing?!” Sam gasps.

“At least I’m not in Hell.”

Sam huffs out an exasperated breath. “You’re still dead, Dean!”

“Yeah, but at least now that you can hear me, I won’t go insane.”

“ _All_ ghosts go insane,” Sam protests. “It’s just a matter of time. You _know_ that.”

“Well, that’s not happening while I have you to keep me sane.”

Sam huffs out another breath, this time through his nose. The idea that Dean’s fine with this, that he’s willing to continue to exist as a ghost, frustrates Sam. His stubborn brother has never cared enough about himself. He’s content to be dead as long as he can be with Sam, but that’s not good enough for Sam.

Sam wants his brother back. _All_ of him.

“Someday, I’ll die,” Sam reminds him. “You’ll be alone here.”

Dean shifts next to him, and it feels so much like Dean being awkward and evasive that it makes Sam want to cry.

“We’ll figure it out, Sam,” Dean insists. “Just like we always do.”

Sam grasps the amulet hanging around his neck, flashing back to the horrible minutes after Dean died, holding Dean’s shredded body in his arms until Bobby came in to get him. The hours it took to carry Dean’s body to a safe house in Champagne, to clean him up and dress him in clean clothes, are all a blur to Sam. His argument with Bobby about disposing of the body still hurts. Bobby wanted to give Dean a hunter’s funeral, sending him up in flames. But Sam was determined to bring Dean back, so he wanted Dean buried in the cheapest coffin in the shallowest grave possible. The drive to Pontiac to bury Dean felt like a nightmare. Sam remembers removing the amulet, putting it around his own neck, just before closing the lid on the pine box, then struggling with Bobby’s help to lower the coffin into its grave.

“I’ll get you back if it’s the last thing I do,” he had vowed by way of a eulogy.

Bobby just frowned and shook his head.

Now, Sam’s chest clenches with shame and grief. Even with Dean’s ghost right here beside him, even after watching him die over a hundred times in Florida, the trauma of Dean’s death in that house in Indiana will haunt Sam till the day he dies. Probably after.

“We can’t tell Bobby,” Sam says softly, clutching the amulet like a lifeline. “He’ll make me burn this thing, for one. Then he’ll insist we dig up your body and burn it. Maybe burn the car.”

“Well, we can’t let that happen,” Dean agrees. “Just in case.”

 _Just in case it’s one of those things that’s holding Dean here,_ Sam doesn’t say, but he knows Dean’s thinking that, too.

“Of course, maybe it’s just you,” Dean says.

Sam frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, technically, we’ve got the same DNA,” Dean says. “Maybe I’m tied to you physically in some way. It always felt that way, anyhow.”

“Shut up.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah. You’re the albatross around my neck, Sammy. Holding me back. Literally.”

“You know the albatross saved sailors at sea, right? It’s not a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not,” Dean agrees, his voice warm and full of affection.

They’re silent for a few moments, Sam soaking in Dean’s presence. A warm weight presses against Sam’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to think about it too intently, for fear it will turn cold, or dissipate altogether, but for right now, this moment? It’s nice. It’s relief and comfort and home.

It’s almost like Dean’s alive.

“You think you might learn how to be more corporeal?” Sam muses. “Like, so I could see you as well as hear you?”

Dean shifts, his shoulder pressing harder into Sam’s. “You feel that?”

“Yeah.”

“That first day, after I died, whenever I tried to touch you, my hand went right through you,” Dean says. “You probably didn’t even feel it.”

Sam lets out a breath. “So you’re more solid,” he says thoughtfully. “You can keep your shape for a few minutes.”

“Hey, geek boy, I’m me _all_ the time. I’m never not here. It’s you being able to hear me or whatever that takes some effort.”

“That makes sense.” Sam nods. “It takes energy to push through the veil. We’ve seen it when we hunt. Ghosts leave behind ectoplasm and EMF when they manifest. It’s measurable. If I turned on my EMF reader right now...”

“It’d be buzzing off the grid,” Dean finishes. “That first week or so, I kept wishing you _would_ turn it on, just so you could’ve figured out what was happening sooner. I kept yelling at you, ‘Turn on the damn EMF, Sammy!’ Like it did any good.”

Sam scoffs. “I thought you were in Hell, Dean,” he growls. “I was a little preoccupied trying to figure out a way to get you out. It never occurred to me that...”

“That I was right here all along,” Dean finishes. “Right.”

“Now we just have to figure out a way to get you back into your body.”

“Whoa. Wait.” Dean shifts, the air moving in front of Sam as if Dean’s lifting his hand in a gesture to stop. “I sold my soul, remember? But through some...loophole?...I ended up here, with you. I can’t tell you how much better that sounds. I’d rather not jinx it, if you get my meaning.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam squeaks. “How could this be better?”

“Than Hell? Are you kidding? Of course it’s better.”

“But you’re _dead_.” Sam can’t believe they’re still going in circles over this point. It’s surreal. “Dean, I need you _alive_.”

“Yeah, but I figure, for now maybe it’s good to lay low, you know? Not call too much attention to whatever caused this little glitch in Lilith’s plans. Because it’s a pretty big glitch, wouldn’t you say? I sold my _soul_ , Sammy. But Hell didn’t get it, did they?”

“Or maybe they did, and whatever’s still here — whatever _you_ are, isn’t your soul.” Sam can feel the hysteria rising in his chest. He has to struggle to tamp it down. “Maybe you’re just some residual thing, you know? Just this little scrap of yourself that got left behind. Maybe that’s all ghosts are. I mean, it’s not like we’ve had that much personal experience with them.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Dean huffs out indignantly. “We’re the best damn ghost hunters in these contiguous United States. Name anybody who knows more.”

Sam’s hysteria dampens as he works the problem, tries to find an answer.

“Well, Bobby, for one, which is why I think we gotta call him after all, Dean. We need his help.” Now that he’s come one-eighty on his thinking, Sam’s shaking. Shivering. The room is getting colder.

“Okay, listen.” Dean’s voice is soothing, warm as whiskey and smooth as honey. “Now you’re just going in circles again.” He sighs, sounding so human it breaks Sam’s heart. “You need some rest. We can talk about it tomorrow night.”

And just like that, Sam’s eyelids droop and his chin falls to his chest. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Dean’s words had magic in them, some way to compel Sam to do what he wanted.

Or maybe it’s just having his big brother beside him again, bossing him around, reminding Sam of what he needs, that comforts and reassures him. Feels right.

He’s almost out when a blanket covers him, all the way to his chin.

“Night, Sammy.”

//**//**//

_Because a vision softly creeping_

//**//**//

“So, what I’m wondering is, if a ghost is tied to a _person,_...”

Sam’s got Bobby on the phone, and it isn’t going well. He can tell that Bobby already suspects something.

“Is there something you need to tell me, boy? Something about your brother?”

Bobby’s ability to zero in on the nature of the problem is uncanny. It’s probably the reason Sam hasn’t called him once since Dean died.

“What? No!” Sam insists. “What are you — That’s not why I’m — Nothing like that, Bobby, I swear.”

Bobby sighs, long and deep, and Sam waits. He doesn’t have a choice.

“Listen,” Bobby says finally. “There’s a psychic I know, name of Pamela Barnes. I’ll give you her number and you can call her, tell her what your problem is, see if she’s got a way to help. But Sam.”

Sam tries not to sound too eager. “Yeah?”

“You need to tell her about Dean,” Bobby says. “So she knows what she’s up against. If there’s demons out there still trying to track down your brother’s soul, it’s only fair she knows _before_ you ask for her help.”

Sam draws a breath. “Right. Of course.”

“And Sam.” Sam waits while Bobby makes that disgusted face that Sam knows too well, even though he can’t see it through the phone line. “If your brother figured out a way to tie himself to you so he didn’t have to go to Hell?” Bobby lets his breath out slow. “You’re both looking at a lifetime of demon-dodging. You do realize that.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, letting out the breath he’d been holding. “We — I know. Thanks, Bobby.”

“Good luck, kid.”

//**//**//

_Left its seeds while I was sleeping_

//**//**//

“The demon said, if I dodged the deal in any way, _you_ would die,” Dean reminds him that night. “This isn’t something _I_ did, I can promise you that.”

“So Hell must not know you’re still here,” Sam says.

“Which sounds almost too good to be true,” Dean agrees.

Sam sighs. “Pamela said she could see me tomorrow evening,” he says. “I guess we’ll see what she has to say.”

Dean grunts, shoulder pressing into Sam as solid as if he was really there, and Sam leans into it. He slides down beside his brother so he can lay his head on Dean’s shoulder. He falls asleep that way, finds himself wrapped in a blanket and hugging a pillow when he wakes up the next morning.

Sam’s slept better in the last few nights than he did during the whole month since Dean died. He’s feeling almost human again.

//**//**//

_And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains_

//**//**//

“Well, hello there.” Pamela greets them just before Sam can knock on her door. She glances to Sam’s left, frowning. “Come on in. Both of you.”

“You can see him?” Sam’s beyond excited. He’s tried his best all day to concentrate Dean into existence, but he can’t quite do it. He knows Dean’s there, though, so he talked out loud to him all the way here in the car, despite the fact that he couldn’t hear Dean’s answers.

Sam still has to close his eyes and concentrate pretty intensely to make that happen.

“Well, I can sense he’s there, which is almost like seeing him,” Pamela answers. “He’s been following you around like a shadow for a while now.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “About a month.”

He follows Pamela into her sitting room, where a table is laid out with candles and an intricately-carved spell bowl.

“Sit,” she instructs, indicating the chair across the table from the one she takes. A third chair sits between them, and Sam reminds himself that she’s a psychic. She was expecting two guests.

“So you’ve got yourself a bit of a ghost problem,” Pamela suggests with a knowing smirk.

“Not a problem, exactly,” Sam admits. “It’s my partner. He was murdered about a month ago, and just a few days ago I realized his ghost never left.”

“Ah,” Pamela nods, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “You’re a bit of a psychic yourself.”

Sam blushes. “Not really. But I do know a thing or two about ghosts, and we’re both a little worried about what this means.”

“You talk to him?” Pamela’s impressed.

Sam nods. “At first, it was just when I was sleeping, or almost asleep. Now, if I close my eyes in the dark and concentrate, I can hear him.” He doesn’t mention feeling Dean pressed against him. For some reason, that feels private.

“And you’re wondering what’s tying him here,” Pamela guesses.

“Not exactly,” Sam says. “I’m more concerned about what it means if I can’t get him back.”

“Get him back?” Pamela’s eyes widen. “You want to resurrect him? You do realize you’re talking dark magic, right?”

Sam shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking away from her obvious disbelief. “I know.”

“Sam, even if I knew a way to help you with that, I wouldn’t.”

“Right.” Sam glances to his left, thinks he sees Dean for a split second before he’s gone again. His brother’s uncomfortable, too. Maybe even a little angry with him. “I just — I need him back.”

Pamela takes a deep breath. “Now _that_ is something I can understand. Half of my clients come to me consumed with grief, just wanting a chance to communicate with someone they’ve lost.”

Sam shakes his head. “Yeah, but that’s not the issue here. I can communicate with him just fine. Mostly.”

Pamela leans forward, hands flat on the table. “You need to find a way to move on, Sam,” she says quietly. “If you’re holding him here by the force of your will — and given your psychic talent, I wouldn’t be surprised by that — then you need to learn to let him go.”

Sam shakes his head again. “I can’t do that. I don’t even know that I’m the thing keeping him here. It’s just a hunch.”

“The hunches of a psychic tend to be pretty accurate,” she notes with a smirk.

Sam huffs out a breath. “See, the thing is, Dean sold his soul to a demon. I just need to know if his ghost being here means his soul didn’t go to Hell.”

Pamela’s eyes widen. She leans back, drums her fingers on the edge of the table as she regards him. “That kind of intel is way above my pay grade, Grumpy. Although if I had to guess, I’d say the spirit following you around is as much your partner as he’s able to be. Maybe it’s not all of him, but it’s all of him that’s left, and he’s attached to you like glue.”

Sam considers this for a moment, then nods. “If I can’t get him back, then I need to find a way to keep his ghost from going crazy.”

Pamela’s eyebrows go up, followed by her hands. “You just don’t quit, do you? What part of ‘letting him go’ do you not understand? I know it hurts, Sam, but helping Dean move on is what you need to do. You’re the only one who can do it.”

Sam gets the feeling that Pamela knows Dean’s not just Sam’s partner.

“You want me to let him go so that his soul can go to Hell?” Sam’s jaw clenches. Now it’s his turn to be angry. Stubborn. “I don’t think so. As long as he’s here, he’s not there, and that’s better than nothing.”

Pamela sits back and crosses her arms across her chest. “I don’t know much about demons, but if you two have managed to cheat one, I’m not too optimistic about your chances of getting away with it. In fact, I probably shouldn’t even be talking to you right now.”

Sam sighs. “Yeah, Bobby warned me about putting you in danger, and I’m sorry, I really am. I just need to know what we’re dealing with here.”

“You’re dealing with a ghost who should be in Hell, apparently,” Pamela reminds him. “Your choices are a little limited. As you point out, letting him go condemns him to Hell. I actually get why you wouldn’t want to do that. On the other hand, keeping a ghost with you indefinitely has its drawbacks.”

Sam nods. “Drawbacks like how all ghosts go insane eventually.”

Pamela frowns, considering. “Usually, but not always,” she says. “Not if they’ve got something — or somebody — grounding them.”

Sam shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

Pamela rolls her eyes, leans forward and stretches her arms across the table, palms up.

“Here. Let’s try something.” She beckons, so Sam takes her hand. He starts to take her other hand but she shakes her head. “Let him take both our hands. Now close your eyes.”

Sam does as she asks. He starts and almost opens his eyes when he feels Dean’s hand slide into his, warm and solid.

“I’m right here, Sammy,” Dean says, clear as a bell.

“I hear him,” Sam says for Pamela’s benefit. “And I can feel his hand in mine.”

“Well hello, beautiful,” Pamela says. Sam can almost see the smirk on her face as Dean becomes solid for her.

“You can see him?” Sam asks, keeping his eyes closed.

Pamela chuckles. “You’d better believe it. Wow. There’s some mighty fine genes in your family.”

She _does_ know they’re brothers. Okay.

“You’re pretty hot yourself,” Dean says.

Sam frowns, aiming a disapproving (if blind) expression in Dean’s direction.

Dean chuckles. “Aw, Sammy’s jealous,” he teases.

Pamela squeezes Sam’s hand. “He can definitely join us,” she offers. “You’re both welcome anytime.”

Sam’s eyes fly open. Dean’s still there, as solid as if he were alive, not even flickering. He’s smirking at Pamela, who winks at him before lifting her eyes to Sam.

Dean follows her gaze, locks eyes with Sam, and raises his eyebrows.

“Heya, Sammy.”

“It only took the combined efforts of two psychics, but here he is,” Pamela says. “Of course, once you leave here, it’ll be all you, Sam.” She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t encourage you, but if he were _my_ brother, I’m not sure I could let him go, either.”

Sam blushes. He’s having trouble taking his eyes off Dean, who looks as solid as he feels. The urge to hug him, to hold him close and never let go, is almost unbearable.

“So how do I keep him this way?” Sam asks, finally dragging his gaze away from his brother’s face. “How do I keep him solid like this?”

“Well, I could give you a couple of tips,” Pamela acknowledges. “But it’s really up to you. Your level of concentration, your focus, not to mention his. The connection between you two generates serious energy. That’s what’s making this possible, and that’ll be the source of his stability going forward.”

Pamela gazes thoughtfully at each of them in turn, bites her lip before she speaks again. “There are a couple of exercises I could teach you, if you’re really serious about this.”

“I am,” Sam nods. “We are.”

It’s not the same as having Dean back with him in one piece, but until he figures out a way to make that happen, this will have to do. It definitely beats the alternative.

Dean remains visible for the remainder of their visit, even after they let each other’s hands go. When Sam and Dean practice the exercises Pamela teaches them, Dean seems to become even more corporeal. Sam can see the pores in Dean’s skin. He can count the freckles on Dean’s nose.

“Use your combined energy when you need to touch something without going right through it,” Pamela instructs. “You’ll be levitating objects in no time. Eventually, if you really work at it, he’ll be able to stay solid for as much as a day or two at a time. He’ll be able to pick up solid objects.”

She hesitates, glancing from one to the other Winchester with a grimace. “God, I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Why not?” Dean asks. Sam can feel his excitement. Dean’s practically vibrating with his new-found power.

“Well, for one, if you go dark-side and start killing people, that’s on me,” Pamela snaps. “And believe me, I’ve seen it happen. You two are hunters, so I know _you’ve_ seen it happen.”

Dean shakes his head vigorously. “Not gonna happen for us,” he insists. “As long as I’ve got my trusty side-kick here to keep me on the straight and narrow, nothing bad is gonna happen.”

Pamela doesn’t look convinced, but she says nothing.

//**//**//

_Within the sound of silence._

//**//**//

“This is gonna be great!” Dean crows later when they’re back in the car. He’s still solid, corporeal even in broad daylight. He started to get into the driver’s seat out of habit, and Sam had to stop him. Now he’s sitting shotgun, practically bouncing on the seat in his excitement. “We can track down the rest of the demons, maybe even find Lilith. Who knows? Oh man, Sammy. This is definitely better. Monsters can’t see me coming.”

Sam makes a face. “Dean, we can’t go back to hunting! Are you nuts?”

“Why not? Think of the advantages! I’m like the Invisible Man!”

Sam huffs out a breath. “You can’t be serious. No way we can hunt with you like this.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we can! I mean, maybe I’ve got to work up to holding a gun, but I’ll totally get there. And thanks to Pamela, you can hear me all the time now, so I can have your back when we’re on a case. Hey, maybe I can even take out ghosts on my own, you know? We should check on that. Next haunting we catch wind of, let’s see whether I can take the ghost down right here in the veil. How awesome is that?”

Sam’s mouth opens, then snaps shut again. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“I’m awesome!” Dean insists. “Come on, Sammy, even you have to see what an advantage this could be. We’ll be an even better team! Demons and monsters won’t even see me coming till it’s too late. We’ll be ganking ‘em left and right before they even know what hit ‘em.”

“You’re an idiot.” Sam shakes his head. But he can’t help the grin that cracks open across his face.

The fact is, Dean’s enthusiasm is contagious. Sam’s just relieved to be able to see and hear his brother again. He’s not sure what moved Pamela to help them, but Sam’s glad she did. He’s glad she didn’t insist on burning Dean’s bones or reporting him to Bobby.

Dean’s obviously relieved as well, now that Sam can see him and hear him, now that they have a future again. It’s not the same as being here in body and soul, but Dean feels more like himself than he has in weeks. Being cut off from Sam had been torture for him. Being so near to his brother without being able to communicate with him had been deeply frustrating. Sam can tell.

Sam thinks he understands why ghosts go mad. He’s pretty sure being close to his brother without being seen or heard would drive him insane over time.

Dean’s sure that things will be better now.

And Sam wants to believe that, too.

//**//**//

_In restless dreams I walk alone_

//**//**//

“There’s definite advantages to this thing.”

The Winchesters are in a diner, on their way back to Illinois to check out possible demonic omens. It’s late, close to midnight. Sam wanted to push on through till morning, but Dean insisted they stop, let Sam eat and rest.

Dean, of course, doesn’t need to do either.

“Dean, you know you can’t actually eat that,” Sam reminds him.

Dean looks down at the bacon cheeseburger platter in front of him. The waitress had looked a little worried when Sam had ordered it “for my brother,” who still hadn’t shown up, but she’d put it down across the table without a word. Dean’s winks and flirtatious smiles had gone unnoticed, of course, but Dean didn’t seem to mind too much.

“I just like _thinking_ about eating it,” Dean says. He leans over the plate with his eyes closed and takes a deep breath through his nose. “Ah. Smells just as greasy as always.”

Sam shakes his head and picks at his salad before reaching across the table to nab a couple of Dean’s fries.

“Hey!” Dean swats his hand, and Sam feels it. It’s so normal that it takes him a moment to realize it’s one of the first times he’s really _felt_ his brother, other than those almost imagined moments sitting beside him in bed and when he held Dean’s hand at Pamela’s. This felt like the real thing.

They stare at each other, amazed. Dean reaches tentatively across the table, touches his fingers to the back of Sam’s hand. They can both feel it. Dean’s fingertips are rough and calloused. Warm.

“I don’t eat, I don’t sleep,” Dean says. “I can keep watch while you sleep, man!”

Sam makes a face. “That’s creepy.”

Dean blushes, looks down at his hand on the table, still touching Sam’s.

“Not _watching_ you sleep, dumbass,” he insists as he sits back. Sam misses the contact immediately. “Watching _out_ for you. So you can sleep in peace.”

“It’s still creepy,” Sam says. “All those hours with nothing to do but make sure nobody enters the room while I’m sleeping? Ugh.”

He busies himself eating so he doesn’t have to look at Dean, so he doesn’t have to think about the way Dean’s touch made him feel.

“Not nothing,” Dean insists. “I can practice those exercises Pamela taught me. Learning to lift things. Throw things. Shoot a gun. Swing a blade.”

“Just keep your mitts off anything iron,” Sam reminds him. “Or salt.”

“Right.”

“Will there be anything else?” The waitress interrupts them, looking worried. She’s obviously seen Sam talking to himself. “Do you want me to wrap that up for you?”

“Sure, that’d be great,” Sam smiles at her. “Just the check, please.”

Dean rolls his eyes as she leaves with the cheeseburger. “She thinks you’re crazy,” he comments with a wink.

Sam shrugs. “Maybe I am,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve been called worse.”

He doesn’t lift his gaze to Dean’s look of concern. He doesn’t want to think about all the concerned gazes he’s missed over the past month. He doesn’t like to think about how much he needed them.

Back in the car, Sam feels the hair on the back of his neck move. Glancing at Dean in the passenger seat, he realizes his brother has his arm extended along the back of the seat, his fingers lightly brushing Sam’s neck. Dean doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it, and Sam tries not to think about how good it feels.

His feelings for his brother have always been complicated. Sam would be the first to acknowledge that there were times when those feelings could be classified as a little more than just brotherly.

But of course he never acted on his attraction, and it usually went away, or became subsumed by the normal, day-to-day interactions with Dean that had become habitual. Comfortable.

And if there had been times in the past when Sam jerked off to thoughts of his brother, he never let it bother him much. Dean was a handsome man. Some might even call him _too_ handsome. Beautiful, maybe, or at least damn pretty. In a purely objective sense, finding Dean sexually attractive wasn’t exactly outside the pale.

Although Sam’s fairly certain Dean didn’t return those feelings. Sam may have experimented with gay sex in college, but he’s pretty sure Dean never considered it. He’d always had the girls lined up waiting their turn at him. Easy pickings, as he would have said. Had said, more than once. Dean’s flirtatious, teasing ways were a part of who he was. If there were times he aimed those charms Sam’s way, it didn’t mean he was really attracted to Sam. It only meant that he recognized how sexual attraction worked, and of course Dean Winchester was sex on legs. He loved to tease Sam. Loved to make him blush.

But that was before he died, of course.

It occurs to Sam that Dean’s been lonely. Being a ghost can’t be easy for him. He’s used to having people _see_ him, respond to him, usually in a positive way. Getting no reaction from anybody must be very disorienting. Even maddening.

No wonder he seems so excited about the exercises Pamela taught him. He’s looking forward to becoming part of the world again, to having an effect on people and things again. Far from discouraging him, Pamela’s advice has given Dean hope.

That night, Sam wakes to the sound of the bathroom door opening. He blinks into the darkness of the room just as the bathroom light flicks on. For a moment, he’s disoriented. His foggy brain tells him it’s just Dean getting up to use the bathroom. But then the cold shock of reality reminds him that Dean’s dead.

Then his brain clears and he remembers. Dean’s here. He’s dead, but he’s here.

“Dean?”

The bathroom door opens again and Dean appears, backlit by the light he’s just flipped on.

Sam pushes himself up on one elbow, blinking against the light. “What are you doing?” 

“Had to take a piss,” Dean snaps. “What’s it look like?”

He reaches up, flips the light off and pushes the door all the way open with the flat of his hand. It’s so normal that it takes Sam a minute to realize what it means.

“Wow,” Sam says. “That’s — okay.”

“Cool, huh?”

In the near-darkness, Dean’s shadow moves across the room to his bed, sits down on it. The bed squeaks.

“I’ve been trying to open that door all night,” he says. “It’s just a matter of concentration.”

He stretches out on the bed, crosses his ankles, and tucks his arms behind his head.

“Did you take your shirt off?” Sam knows what Dean was buried in. He’s been wearing the same t-shirt, jeans, and open button-down since he first appeared. Until now. Now he’s just wearing the t-shirt and jeans. “And your boots? How did you manage that?”

More importantly, where are they?

Dean shrugs. “Just did it,” he says smugly. “Now I’m tired. Gonna get some beauty rest.”

“You’re serious.” Sam stares.

Dean yawns. “Goodnight, John-boy.”

Sam shakes his head. “Idiot.”

When Dean’s breathing becomes deep and even a few minutes later, Sam tries not to think about how impossible it is for Dean to be sleeping. Dean’s just showing off, for Sam’s sake. Making things feel normal.

Dean doesn’t even really breathe, after all.

But Sam can’t help feeling comforted as he drifts off to sleep to the sound of his brother sleeping in the other bed. Dean even _smells_ familiar.

Sam knows he shouldn’t let Dean’s presence lull him into a false sense of normalcy, but he can’t seem to help it. It feels so good to pretend that Dean’s really here, alive and well. It’s too easy to forget the truth.

And the scary part is, Sam’s beginning to wonder why he should remember the truth in the first place. He’s starting to agree with Dean.

Maybe this could work out after all.

//**//**//

_Narrow streets of cobblestone_

//**//**//

Their first hunt together as man and ghost goes better than Sam could have imagined. Dean’s learned to flicker in and out of sight, to be seen by living people and monsters for brief moments, and it’s ridiculously convenient. They take down a pack of werewolves without breaking a sweat. A nest of vampires becomes so confused they start attacking each other, which Dean thinks is hilarious, of course.

Chupacabra and black dogs don’t stand a chance.

After three weeks of hunting without a single demon sighting, Dean’s thrilled.

“We’re a real team, Sam!” He crows after they’ve ended a ghost in Tuscon in the easiest way possible — Dean grabs hold of the thing while Sam torches its corpse. Easy peasy. “This is awesome!”

When a poltergeist they were hunting decides to strangle Sam, then sends him tumbling down a flight of stairs, Sam loses consciousness. It’s only Dean’s ability to plant the hex bags in the walls of the house and banish the thing that saves the day. When Sam comes to, Dean’s kneeling over him, smiling his relief.

“We got him,” he assures Sam, signature cocky grin on full display.

Sam nods, unable to speak. His throat feels like it’s on fire. Dean helps him up and Sam leans on his brother’s solid body as they stagger to the car. Sam’s too exhausted to drive, so Dean gets behind the wheel and Sam doesn’t protest.

Back at the motel, Dean makes Sam strip so he can check for broken bones and other injuries. Sam lies prone on the bed in his underwear as Dean’s familiar touch soothes his aching muscles, his burning skin. Dean washes away the blood from Sam’s scalp wound, the scrapes on his elbows and knees, the shallow cut on his abdomen where the poltergeist tried to slice him open with an 18th century sword. Dean makes him take painkillers, wraps ice in a wash cloth and presses it to the bruise forming under Sam’s left eye.

As Dean starts to get up, Sam grabs hold of his wrist.

“Stay,” Sam croaks hoarsely.

Dean chuckles. “Demanding little bitch,” he mutters fondly, but he does as Sam asks. He sits on the edge of the bed, strokes Sam’s hair until Sam falls into a fitful sleep, floating away on painkillers and Dean’s soothing touch.

They take a few days off so that Sam can heal. They hit a Counting Crows concert in Springfield, visit Lincoln’s tomb while they’re there, then drive south to Nashville to check out the Grand Ol’ Opry. They agree the place sucks, but at least they can tick off having been there.

Bedding down in a motel outside Clarksville, Dean suggests they watch a movie and Sam agrees immediately. Dean shows off his new ability to open a beer and drink it, and Sam tries not to think too hard about how that’s possible. It feels better than it should to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother on one of the beds, drinking beer and watching _Predator_ on the motel’s crappy oversized television. Sam relaxes into Dean’s body without letting himself think too much about how solid Dean has become over the past month.

It occurs to him that Dean allows this almost-cuddling way more than he did before he died. It’s making Sam horny, which may be the reason Dean never allowed it before. But of course that assumes that Dean knew how Sam felt about him, so that can’t be right. Maybe Dean allows the physical closeness as a way to reassure Sam that he’s really here. Or maybe he’s just showing off how solid he can be.

Sam’s a little tipsy. He can’t help squirming, trying to adjust his hardening dick without being too obvious. He feels Dean watching him, his attention diverted from the TV, and Sam can’t help turning his head, just a little, slowly enough to give Dean time to turn away.

When he doesn’t, Sam almost laughs. Dean’s face is so close Sam can see every pore, every whisker. There are too many freckles across his nose to count, but that wouldn’t stop Sam if Dean would let him try. His full lips are slick with beer, his eyes half-lidded, lashes long and dark. He’s looking at Sam’s mouth.

“Sam?” Dean’s tone leaves no doubt about his meaning, and Sam doesn’t need to be asked twice. He’s waited too long.

Dean’s lips are as soft as they look, his mouth strangely cool. He tastes of beer and something vaguely sweet. Sam cups his cheek, rubs his thumb along Dean’s jaw, marveling at the prickly feel of his five-o’clock shadow. Dean’s been shaving every morning, which shouldn’t be necessary. Every evening his jaw has a little stubble on it, just enough to be sexy and to make Sam want to touch.

Sam runs his thumb over the smooth, delicate skin of Dean’s cheek, just under his eye, angles his face so that Sam can kiss deeper.

Dean moans as Sam’s tongue touches his. He shivers as Sam’s hand caresses his skin. When Sam finally lets him up for air, he’s gasping. Trembling. They gaze at each other for a moment. Dean’s eyes are full of love. They crinkle a little at the corners with amusement as Sam watches.

“What?” Sam breathes. He’s trembling.

“Nothing,” Dean says. He swallows, and Sam watches his Adam’s apple bob enticingly. “Just you taking so long, that’s all. Waiting till I was dead.”

“Wanted you since I was fourteen, you idiot,” Sam says, running his thumb over Dean’s lower lip.

“You picked a helluva time to let me know,” Dean says, sucking Sam’s thumb into his mouth. It’s wet and cool. Dean sucks it while looking up at Sam from under his lashes, making Sam blush and harden almost unbearably.

Dean takes their beer bottles and places them on the bedside table. He reaches for the remote and flips off the TV before turning back to Sam.

“Wanna get naked?”

Sam shivers. His eyes slide closed as he nods, then he opens them again as Dean sits up, pulls his t-shirt off and drops it on the floor. Sam marvels again at the way Dean can do that — remove the clothing as if it’s not just as ghostly as he is — then he gets distracted by Dean’s bare chest and back and arms. His shoulders, sprinkled with freckles. His nipples, pebbling in the air-conditioned room. As Dean unbuckles his jeans and pushes them down his legs, Sam sucks in a breath. The boxers he has on underneath are the same boxers Sam pulled onto Dean’s dead body two months ago. He already removed his boots and socks, and somehow the sight of Dean’s slender bare feet almost makes Sam lose it. Everything about Dean had always seemed unattainable, unreachable. Sam had looked up to his brother all his life, but seeing him vulnerable and nearly naked always made Sam want to cry. Dean had always been so good, so pure of heart, better than Sam at everything, undeserving of what happened to him. Sam would give anything to atone for Dean’s death, which was due to Dean’s one and only sin, the sin of loving his brother too much.

“Hey.” Dean leans up on one elbow next to Sam and swipes his thumb along Sam’s cheek, under his eye, wiping away the tear that slid down it. “Sammy?”

“I should have been the one to die,” Sam says miserably, letting more tears flow. “You should have left me dead in Cold Oak.”

Dean shakes his head. “You know I couldn’t do that,” he says. “I’m not as strong as you. Can’t live with you dead.”

“Neither can I,” Sam sobs, flood-gates finally opening. “I’m not strong, Dean. I’m not!”

“Hey, come on now, Sammy.” Dean gathers Sam into his arms, rolling him towards Dean on the bed. “I’ve got you. You’re all right now, Sammy. You’re all right.”

Dean holds him tight, hands rubbing circles on Sam’s back, and Sam clings, a small boy with a skinned knee in his big brother’s arms. He pushes his face into the hollow of Dean’s throat, snuffling miserably, breathing in Dean’s scent. His skin is cooler than it should be, but smells of sweat and aftershave as it should, and after a moment or two Sam’s sobs subside. He becomes aware of Dean’s skin, of the smooth planes of his back and chest, the pulse in his neck.

Dean shouldn’t have a beating heart. He shouldn’t have a circulatory system.

For the first time since Dean reappeared, Sam considers the possibility that Dean isn’t a ghost at all. He’s too corporeal now. He’s able to eat and drink, to remove his clothing, to shower and piss and sleep. He stays solid for days at a time, as far as Sam can tell, although he might disappear when Sam’s sleeping.

But if Dean’s not a ghost, what is he?

“I can hear you thinking.”

Sam starts, pulling back to look sharply into Dean’s face.

Dean’s eyes widen comically, then he laughs. “Kidding! I’m kidding! Geez, Sam. I’m not psychic.”

Sam blinks, shakes his head to clear it. “No, I know,” he says. “It’s just — You drove the car the other day.”

Dean nods. “I’m getting stronger. It’s you, Sam. Your psychic energy, like Pamela said. You’re making me stronger.”

“But that’s just it, Dean,” Sam says. “Even with my help, you shouldn’t be able to do all the things you’re doing. You practically carried me out of the house and into the car after the poltergeist, which _you_ killed. You can eat a meal at a diner now. You make yourself appear to the waitress and she never even realizes that you’re not — that you don’t have a body. No ghost we’ve ever heard of could do those things.”

Dean shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sam. I guess I’m just special.”

“Yeah, you are,” Sam agrees. “That’s just it.”

Dean smirks, slipping a hand down between them until he finds Sam’s still-clothed dick and gives it a squeeze, making Sam gasp.

“You wanna get naked so can show you just how special I can be?” Dean teases.

God help him, Sam does. He knows he should probably get up and do some research, follow up on the little niggling fear at the edge of his consciousness, the tiny voice deep in his brain that keeps trying to warn him that things aren’t as they appear. He really should try to figure out what’s going on here.

But he doesn’t. He chalks that up to his conviction that whatever Dean is, he’s still Dean. He’s still the big brother who loves and protects Sam and always has his back. If he’s somehow become something else, something not quite human, that’s just the way it is. Sam can live with that, as long as he’s got Dean by his side.

Once they’re both completely naked, Dean kisses a line down Sam’s chest, sucking each of his nipples in turn, dipping his tongue in Sam’s belly button. He settles between Sam’s legs, kissing around his cock on both sides, sucking the tender skin on the juncture of each thigh. He pushes Sam’s legs apart, bends his knees, kisses down behind his balls to his hole, shoves a wet, weirdly cool tongue inside Sam’s body.

Sam arches off the bed, moaning and squirming, out of his mind with the responses Dean elicits. When Dean swallows down his cock, Sam can’t help bucking up, fucking into Dean’s mouth. He squeezes his eyes shut in his effort to hold back his orgasm, but that only makes the sensations more intense. When Dean does something with his tongue Sam literally can’t hold back. It’s been too long, he’s wanted Dean since forever, and the last two months have been too overwhelming for Sam to keep control of himself one second longer. He comes and comes, moaning loudly, uncontrollably, fucking up into Dean’s mouth with his fingers clutched in Dean’s hair. Dean swallows like a pro, something Sam at first files away in the back of his brain to mull over later, then immediately discards because it reminds Sam that Dean grew up too fast and had to do whatever he could to keep Sam fed when Dad left them alone too long.

As he comes down, he reaches for Dean, pulls him up next to Sam on the bed, kisses him deeply, tasting himself in Dean’s cool mouth.

“That was — “ he begins, then remembers. “Oh. Just give me a minute.” He waves down at Dean’s erection, pressed against his thigh.

“Oh, baby, I’m not done with you yet,” Dean murmurs, voice whiskey smooth.

“Oh my God,” Sam breathes, shivering again as he guesses Dean’s intent. He’s only ever been fucked by one other guy, back at Stanford during his freshman year, thinking of Dean the whole time, but he knows how it’s done. How it _feels_. He’d talked Jessica into pegging him a couple of times, again thinking about Dean because she already reminded him of his brother, and he didn’t want to think too much about how that was probably the best sex he’d ever had.

Until now, of course.

Dean takes his time opening Sam up, using his mouth and his fingers until Sam’s a quivering mass of nerve endings. He’s begging and leaking tears and jizz by the time Dean slides his lubed dick inside, but he doesn’t care. Dean doesn’t laugh at him, just takes care of him the way he’s always done, making it good for Sam. Dean’s always been a considerate lover. Sam’s heard him giving pleasure to some random girl in the next room or the next bed dozens of times over the years. Now, he takes his time, drives Sam crazy so that he’s hard and weeping by the time Dean starts pounding into him.

“Touch yourself,” Dean demands, panting. “Want you to come with me.”

Sam shouts when he comes this time, feels his hole clench around Dean’s dick as Dean comes, too, holding himself still, breath hitching in that tell-tale way Sam’s heard so many times over the years.

Only now, it’s Sam making Dean come. It’s Sam’s body clenched around the only person he’s ever really loved in every way.

Dean collapses on top of Sam, breathing hard, and Sam holds him, strokes his sweaty back, buries his face in Dean’s hair. Sam holds Dean until he becomes uncomfortably heavy, until Sam thinks Dean might be asleep. Sam holds his brother until his heartbeat starts to slow, letting his fingertips play with the short hairs on the back of Dean’s neck. He holds Dean until he feels Dean’s softening dick slip free from his body.

Dean hisses and stirs then, rolling to the side and blinking dazedly at Sam, green eyes shining with unshed tears, cheeks and lips flushed red. He looks more vivid, more alive, than Sam’s ever seen him, with his hair sticking up and his long, thick eyelashes clumped with sweat or tears or sleep.

He’s beautiful.

Post-coital Dean isn’t new. Sam’s seen his brother just after he’s had sex many times. But this time it’s _Sam_ who’s put that look on his brother’s face. It’s Sam who’s made Dean look like this beautiful, fucked-out version of himself. Beloved. Alive.

Then Dean smirks, cracking the illusion.

“Get me a washcloth, bitch,” he drawls. “I’m not sleeping in the wet spot.”

Sam huffs out a disbelieving breath but rolls obediently out of bed and heads into the bathroom. His ass is sore and dripping grossly. He can feel Dean watching him as he limps a little, but he tells himself he doesn’t care. He can imagine the smug look on Dean’s face without needing to see it.

He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, sees the same bright-eyed, flushed look that was on Dean’s face. He runs the water, washes his face, runs his fingers through his hair to try to tame it a little before he wets a washcloth, wipes the sticky mess off his belly and between his legs.

“You took long enough,” Dean grouses when Sam returns with a damp washcloth. Dean’s stretched out naked on the other bed, and Sam tosses the washcloth a little too hard before pulling up the blankets on his own bed and flopping down on it.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Dean wipes himself off, scoots over on his bed in an obvious invitation. “Get over here.”

Sam blinks, but doesn’t need to be asked twice. Dean spoons him when he slides into the bed, arm around his waist, lips pressed to the back of Sam’s neck.

Sam’s not sure he can sleep with Dean’s naked body pressed against him, but he reminds himself that Dean’s body is rotting in a grave in Pontiac and this is just an impossibly solid astral projection.

It doesn’t seem to help. He’s hard again in record time. He comes three more times that night, and when he finally collapses into Dean’s arms for the last time, wan morning sunlight is peeking through the curtains.

When he wakes, late in the morning, Dean’s already been out and returned with coffee and breakfast sandwiches.

Despite his sore ass, Sam’s happier than he can ever remember feeling.

//**//**//

_Beneath the halo of a streetlamp_

//**//**//

The next three weeks are a blur of hunting, fucking, and saving people. Dean’s mastered all of his former abilities as a living, breathing being. He even sleeps through the night. Although Sam can’t forget that Dean’s not really alive, he’s also stopped his frantic search for a way to fix Dean.

There may come a time when resurrecting Dean body and soul becomes necessary. But for now, Dean’s as much himself as he’s ever been, with the added bonus of his ability to disappear at will.

He’s also able to make himself visible only to Sam, which is helpful when questioning witnesses.

That particular ability becomes extremely valuable on the day in early August when Sam finds himself jumped by two demons.

“Thanks for keeping this warm for me, Sam,” the demon possessing a blond woman says, grabbing the demon knife away from Sam as the one possessing a young man holds Sam tight.

“Ruby?”

Dean flickers into view behind Ruby, and Sam shakes his head in warning. This is the first time in two months that they’ve even seen a demon. It’s time for some intel.

“It's nice to be back,” Ruby says. “Where I was, even for Hell, it was nasty. I guess I really pissed Lilith off. Imagine my relief when she gave me one last chance to take it topside. And all I had to do was find you and kill you.”

“Yeah?” Sam puffs out his chest. “Go ahead.”

Dean’s eyes widen, but Sam’s bluff pays off. Instead of stabbing him, Ruby plunges her knife into the other demon, who lets go of Sam as he dies.

“You’re a hard man to find, Sam Winchester,” Ruby notes. “Now, come on. Grab your keys. We need to get out of here.”

“I’m not going anywhere till I get some answers,” Sam says, rubbing his aching shoulder.

“Do you want Lilith to find you?” Ruby stares at him. “She’s been gunning for you ever since Dean went to Hell. I had to work hard just to convince her to let me out to come find you, but she still doesn’t trust me completely. She’s got somebody tailing me right now, to make sure I make good on my promise. So unless you want to die right now...”

“You’re lying,” Sam snaps. “Dean’s not in Hell.”

Ruby wipes the blade on her sleeve and smirks at him. “I assure you, he is,” she says. “He’s being tortured as we speak by the very same master torturer who trained me. Not a nice guy, to say the least.”

Sam shifts his feet, licks his lips, and glances at Dean over Ruby’s shoulder.

Dean shakes his head, but stays silent.

“If you’re not here to kill me, what are you doing here?” Sam demands.

“I can help you kill Lilith,” Ruby says. “But like I said, we need to leave. Now!”

Sam scoffs. “I don’t need you to help me kill Lilith,” he snaps. “I saw the way she looked at me when she tried to kill me before. She’s afraid of me.”

“Because you’re more powerful than she expected.” Ruby nods. “But you’re not strong enough to kill her, yet. I can help you get stronger, channel your power. We can beat her, Sam! And you can get your revenge for Dean. We just need to get someplace safe...”

Sam considers her for a moment, glances at Dean before turning his full attention on Ruby.

“Give me the knife,” he demands, putting his hand out.

Ruby smirks, sure she’s won. She lays the hilt of the knife into the palm of Sam’s hand, and Sam doesn’t hesitate. Dean steps up behind her and grabs Ruby’s arms, surprising her just long enough for Sam to push the blade into her chest. Her head goes back, mouth wide with surprise, and Sam’s pretty sure that Dean’s the last thing she sees before she expires in a burst of flashing sparks.

Sam pulls the knife free and glances up at Dean.

“ _Now_ we get out of here,” Sam says, grabbing the keys and tossing them to Dean.

They leave the mess for the demons to clean up.

//**//**//

_I turn my collar to the cold and damp_

//**//**//

“Ruby thinks you’re in Hell,” Sam notes when they’re in the car, leaving the scene at top speed, Dean behind the wheel. “ _Thought,_ ” he adds when he remembers. “She _thought_ you were in Hell.”

Dean shrugs. “Demons lie.”

“Right,” Sam agrees. “Of course they do. They also lie to each other. If all run-of-the-mill demons assume you’re in the pit, that might explain why I couldn’t get one to answer my summons.”

“Or maybe somebody down there doesn’t want word getting round that I’m not there,” Dean suggests. “It’d be bad for business, finding out that one of the souls they were supposed to collect went rogue and didn’t show up for his tour of duty after all.”

Sam nods thoughtfully. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Not for the first time, it occurs to Sam that Dean isn’t fully human. He may be the most powerful ghost Sam’s ever encountered, or he may be something else, but he’s definitely not human anymore.

Sam doesn’t think too hard about why he doesn’t let that bother him. He’s grateful to have Dean with him, no matter how changed he is. He’s getting used to this version of his brother, the one with seemingly magical powers who seems okay with Sam’s psychic abilities.

Sam wonders about that, though.

“Hey, Dean, do you remember how you used to get freaked out by my psychic stuff?”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, so? That was before you could use it to communicate with me, dude.”

“Right,” Sam nods. “Like that time in the hospital with the Ouija board. After the accident.”

“What accident?” Dean looks confused. “You mean when Dad died?”

Sam nods. “You said you didn’t remember.”

“I don’t,” Dean agrees. “You told me about it. There was a reaper, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. So you really don’t mind me using my powers now,” Sam clarifies.

“Like I say, if it’s for something good, like communicating with me, helping me be more solid, then I’m fine with it. Besides, your mojo must not be all demon-given if you can do good with it, right?”

Sam isn’t so sure about that. He’s got demon blood in him. No amount of using his psychic power to concentrate his brother into a solid state of existence can change that.

Dean’s existence can’t be a bad thing, though. It’s not. It could never be. If there’s one thing Sam’s sure of, it’s that. Dean’s a hero. He saves people.

The evil inside Sam can’t have anything to do with Dean.

He won’t let it.

//**//**//

_When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light  
That split the night_

//**//**//

“Doesn’t it seem strange to you that we haven’t heard or seen of any demonic omens or demon sightings in almost four months?”

They’re sitting across from each other at Moe’s, the “Best Burger in Five Counties” diner. It’s been almost two weeks since their encounter with Ruby, and Sam’s feeling a little antsy. After the demons escaped from the Devil’s Gate in Wyoming, Sam and Dean had had a lot of work to do hunting them all down. Sam had assumed he’d still be doing that, after Dean went to Hell.

But things haven’t worked out like that. Sam and Dean were supposed to be ganking demons, but they can’t seem to find one to save their lives. Werewolves, shapeshifters, ghosts, vampires, even a couple of weird urban legends that turned out to be vengeful spirits, but no demons.

It’s almost like the things are avoiding the Winchesters, which doesn’t make any sense.

“Well, there was Ruby,” Dean says as he takes another bite of his burger.

“Yeah, but she said I was a tough man to find,” Sam says, flinching as Dean chews with his mouth partly open. When he notices Sam’s expression, Dean grins and opens wider. “Dude!”

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Maybe they’re avoiding you.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, maybe you smell bad?” Dean takes a swig of his beer, shakes his head. “Demons, man. No taste.”

Sam scoffs. “I just figured we’d be fighting a demon war. I thought I’d be doing it alone, to be honest, but since you stayed around after all, I just figured we’d be fighting a lot more demons about this time.” He takes a sip of his beer. “Maybe we should call Bobby. Hell, maybe we should go visit the old man. It’s been almost four months. He probably thinks I’m avoiding him.”

“ _Are_ you?” Dean’s eyes narrow. “Avoiding him, I mean.”

“No!” Sam’s shocked. “Why would I do that? He’s the next best thing to a father to us, you know that.”

He doesn’t think about the calls he hasn’t answered, the voice mails he hasn’t listened to.

“He also helped you bury me,” Dean reminds him. “Not sure he’d be exactly excited to see me topside.”

“Why would you say that?” Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re like the son he never had. Besides, you’re his favorite.”

Dean’s mouth quirks up in a smug grin. “I am, aren’t I? Well, that’s only fair, since you were Dad’s favorite.”

“I was not!” Sam’s indignant. He hates it when Dean gets down on himself. Dean always felt he wasn’t good enough, didn’t do enough, couldn’t live up to their father’s expectations, no matter how hard he tried. Sam can’t make up for Dean’s feelings of inadequacy, but he wishes he could.

“Sure you were,” Dean insists. “Dad was always going on to me about protecting you, taking care of you, keeping you innocent about what we did as long as possible.”

Sam shakes his head as a terrible thought occurs to him. “You don’t think he knew, do you? When I was little, I mean. You think he knew about Azazel back then?”

“No, I don’t,” Dean assures him angrily. “He definitely didn’t find out about that till after you left for college. He was just piecing it all together when we found him again, remember?”

“Yeah,” Sam nods, looking down at his plate. His father’s memory is always painful. He sees now that part of his anger with John had to do with Dean, with the way John undervalued and overburdened Dean, right up to and including the moment he told Dean he might have to kill Sam.

What kind of father does that?

“Pretty sure Bobby would take one look at me and try to end me,” Dean says as he takes another long swallow of his beer. “Which, by the way, is kind of what I thought you might do.”

“Dean.” Sam shakes his head and scoffs lightly. “I’d never, you know that.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t been seeing you research ways to get me back into my body for a while now, Sam. You giving up on that?”

“What? No!” But of course Dean’s right. Lately, Sam’s been content with keeping things the way they are. Now that Dean’s solid, able to drive the car, eat, sleep, act mostly human, Sam’s put the idea of resurrection on the back burner.

Not to mention, Sam’s a little in love, not that he’d ever say that out loud. Dean treats him with more affection now, since Sam admitted his feelings. Dean touches him more often than he ever did before, and Sam likes it. Sam doesn’t want to do anything to change that.

He knows he’s being selfish. He just likes Dean the way he is. The way things have worked out for them is more than Sam could’ve hoped for when Dean was alive.

It’s probably a little creepy, how much he enjoys fucking this inhuman version of his brother. Dean’s technically a monster now, whether Sam wants to face that or not.

“I just thought we’d get you into good shape before I started poking around trying to fix things, you know?”

When he raises his eyes, Dean’s giving him a look that makes Sam blush. He knows. It might be Sam’s dirty little secret, but Dean knows.

“I never wanted to be a monster, Sam,” Dean says softly. “I’d rather die for good than stay this way forever. You know that.”

Sam’s throat closes up and tears smart at the backs of his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he chokes out hoarsely. He clears his throat and squares his shoulders. “I know. I know, Dean. We’ll figure it out.”

Problem is, Sam’s not sure he wants to.

//**//**//

_And touched the sound of silence_

//**//**//

The end comes without warning.

The night after a particularly brutal hunt, they lie in bed together, just resting. They’ve showered and checked each other over for injuries, and Sam thinks again about how fucked-up it is that Dean pretends to get injured just to give Sam the semblance of normalcy he craves in their anything-but-normal relationship. Dean wants to let Sam feel he’s taking care of his brother, that he didn’t fail and let him die after all.

It’s mid-September and the nights are getting cooler. They sleep with the air-conditioning off most nights now, cool breeze from the window pebbling their naked skin. Sam still spends a portion of the night gazing at his brother’s body, amazed that it’s here, in one piece, even though he knows it’s not.

He should be trying to get Dean’s body back. He shouldn’t let this ghostly substitute distract him so much.

“Sam?”

Dean’s eyes fly open wide, panic making his features seize up.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam reaches out instinctively.

His hand passes right through Dean’s body.

“What the hell?”

Dean raises panic-stricken eyes to Sam’s. “I don’t know. Sam, I don’t know! Something’s not right.”

“Okay, okay, we just need to focus, that’s all,” Sam mutters, dampening his terror with practicality. “Take a deep breath. Concentrate!”

Sam closes his eyes, breathes through his nose, following his own advice.

“Sam?”

Dean’s panicked voice sounds far away, like an echo across a canyon.

“Sammy! What the hell’s happening? Sam!”

Sam’s eyes fly open. Dean’s barely there. He’s shadowy and flickering. Sam can see the bedsheets through him. He stares at Sam with utter horror, mouth open in a soundless cry.

“Dean! Hold on!”

Sam jumps out of bed, grabs his phone, and punches Pamela’s number.

“Grumpy?”

“He’s — he’s disappearing!” Sam shouts into the phone, keeping his eyes on Dean, who flickers again, reappearing so faintly that Sam has to blink in order to see him. “What do I do?!”

Dean looks down at himself, then back up at Sam, anguish and sorrow transforming his handsome face.

“Pamela, what do I do?”

“Goodby, Sammy,” Dean whispers, his voice so soft Sam has to strain to hear it. “I’m sorry.”

He flickers out, and this time, he doesn’t come back.

“Dean!”

“Sam?” Pamela’s voice pierces through Sam’s panic, and Sam jumps. He’d forgotten he was still holding the phone.

“He’s gone! Pamela, what happened? What the hell happened?”

“I can’t tell you, Sam,” Pamela’s voice is soft, sympathetic. “But I knew, the minute I picked up the phone, I knew. I’m sorry.”

Sam huffs out a breath. He’s panting. Hyperventilating. “So, how do I get him back?”

“I don’t know if you can,” Pamela admits. “I’m not even sure how you did it in the first place. You’re an enigma, Sam Winchester. One thing I do know, though.”

“What’s that?” Sam struggles to control his breathing, but he’s light-headed, sick to his stomach. He’s afraid he’s going to pass out.

“The bond between you and your brother is stronger than anything I’ve ever seen,” Pamela says. “If there’s a way, he’ll come back to you. Now let me get my rest. It’s three in the morning.”

After Sam hangs up, he turns the light on and pulls his laptop out. He’s still there when dawn comes, seeping through the window blinds like a slowly incoming tide.

By noon, he’s figured out what to do. It’s a long shot, but he figures the spell he’s been looking at could work, which beats the alternative.

He stops at the Walgreen’s in town to pick up supplies, grabs a coffee from the McDonald’s drive-through. He’s not hungry, but he orders a breakfast sandwich anyway, almost hearing Dean’s voice in his head telling him to eat something.

The drive to Pontiac takes four hours, and by the time he pulls into the dirt lane that leads into the wooded area where he buried Dean, it’s late in the afternoon. The trees shade the lane, but beyond the edge of the road the sun still shines down on what at first looks like a large meadow. Frowning, Sam grabs the bag of supplies and a shovel from the trunk of the Impala and heads up the bank and into the woods.

He’s walked just past the tree line when he’s in the open space he saw from the road. The trees have all blown down, as if some massive tornado blew through. They lie in almost perfect formation, like matchsticks, surrounding the site of Dean’s grave, which is clearly empty.

Sam’s too late.

His first thought is demons. Somehow, demons found Dean’s grave and stole his body. He doesn’t even want to think about what that might mean. Some demon could be wearing Dean’s body right now, using it to do unspeakable things...

“Sammy?”

Sam whirls around at the sound of that familiar voice, stares disbelievingly at the sight in front of him.

Dean looks like a revenant. Or a ghoul, maybe. He’s covered in dirt up to his eye sockets, bloody knuckles giving away what he’s just done.

“Dean?”

Sam drops the shovel and the bag, crosses the distance between them, and sweeps Dean into his arms without hesitation. He doesn’t care that his brother might be possessed, doesn’t care that he might be some kind of monster. He’s lived with an inhuman version of Dean for the past four months and just lost him again, inexplicably. Nothing matters except getting Dean back.

Sam’s not about to let go again.

Dean returns the hug with all of the relief and desperation that Sam feels. Dean’s literally covered in grave dirt, smells like decay, but Sam won’t be the first to end the hug. He won’t.

“Okay,” Dean croaks finally. He pushes Sam back with more than a little reluctance but keeps ahold of him at arm’s length. “You wanna tell me what you did, Sammy?”

“Huh?” Sam blinks. “I didn’t do anything. I was coming here to dig your body up. Found a reanimation spell I was gonna try.”

Dean glances at the shovel and discarded bag on the ground. “You didn’t make a deal?”

“What?” Sam’s stunned. “You don’t remember? No demon would answer my summons.” It occurs to Sam that this is really Dean. His body. Resurrected. “You don’t remember me telling you that?”

Dean blinks, squints like he’s trying to figure something out. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “The last thing I remember is being torn apart by Hellhounds. Then I woke up in a pine box an hour ago or so. Took everything I had to dig myself out.”

“Jesus.” Sam stares, disbelieving. “You’re not kidding.”

“Why would I kid about that? You can see for yourself.” Dean gestures at the devastation around the empty grave. _His_ grave.

Sam swallows. “So you — You’re not a ghost,” he clarifies.

Dean shakes his head. “Nor a revenant, nor a ghoul, nor any other supernatural creature. I’m me, Sammy. I’m really me.” He frowns. “Of course, you should run all the tests. Don’t take my word for it.”

“No, of course not,” Sam mutters. He’s having a hard time processing what he’s hearing. Dean’s serious about not remembering the past four months. Sam’s not sure how he feels about that. “Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“I’d kill for a bottle of water right now,” Dean croaks as Sam picks up the shovel and bag and leads the way to the car.

“Yeah, sure,” Sam mumbles, mind racing. If Dean doesn’t remember, what does that mean?

Sam opens the trunk, tosses the bag and the shovel inside, grabs a towel and a bottle of water for Dean.

Dean doesn’t remember.

“So, how long was I under?” Dean asks, toweling the worst of the dirt off, then chugging the water thirstily.

Sam tries not to watch the water drip down his chin.

_Dean doesn’t remember._

“Four months,” Sam says. “It’s been four months since I buried you.”

Dean blinks, clearly shocked. “And you were going to dig me up after _four months?_ Yikes.” He looks down at himself. “Hey, I look pretty good for a four-months-dead corpse, huh?”

 _You have no idea,_ Sam thinks but doesn’t say. He rolls his eyes, crossing around to the passenger side of the car. Dean searches his pockets, finally looks up at Sam when he can’t find his keys.

Sam tosses the keys to him. “Yours are back in the hotel,” he says.

“Where are we staying?” Dean asks as he slides into the driver’s seat.

“The Astoria Hotel in Pontiac,” Sam replies.

“Classy,” Dean notes. He runs his hands over the dashboard, the steering wheel. “Hey baby, did you miss me?”

Sam scoffs, as much to hide his blush as anything. “Get a room.”

Dean shoots Sam a smirking grin, and Sam practically comes in his jeans. Dean slams the keys into the ignition, bringing the Impala roaring to life, and they fishtail down the lane, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

//**//**//

“So, four months, huh?”

Dean’s munching on a power bar, chugging another bottle of water as they head down the two-lane towards Pontiac.

“Yeah.” Sam tries not to watch as Dean’s bloody-knuckled hands flex on the steering wheel.

“What have you been up to?”

Sam shrugs. “Hunting. The usual.”

“Alone?” Dean shoots Sam a disapproving look, and Sam shakes his head.

“No. No, I’ve teamed up a few times,” Sam lies.

“With anybody I know?”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t think so,” he says. He looks out the window as he feels Dean throw a skeptical glance at him.

“Seriously? Dude, who do you know that I don’t know? Huh?”

“Pamela Barnes,” Sam blurts out. “She’s a psychic. Lives about four hours south of Pontiac.”

Dean lets out a low whistle. “Wow. Psychic, huh? So you two have a few things in common.”

Sam can hear the jealousy in Dean’s voice. “She was helpful, yeah.”

“I’ll bet,” Dean waggles his eyebrows.

Sam huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. “You’re an idiot. It wasn’t like that.”

“Sure, it wasn’t,” Dean chuckles, still smirking.

Sam rolls his eyes, shakes his head again as he gazes out at the darkening landscape. The sun set a few minutes ago, leaving gloom-covered fields under a multi-colored sky. The changing sky matches Sam’s mood, which is all over the place. He’s relieved to have Dean back, but terrified that he can’t remember being a ghost.

Maybe he’ll never recover those memories. Or maybe he doesn’t remember because the ghost wasn’t really Dean. Maybe it wasn’t even a ghost.

There’s no doubt in Sam’s mind that the man sitting in the driver’s seat is Sam’s brother. But he was just as sure that the ghost was Dean, and Sam can’t reconcile those two truths in his brain. It’s just too weird.

In their long lives of confronting weird, this just takes the cake, and that’s saying something.

Sam’s not sure how long he can keep lying to Dean. His brother keeps glancing at him, probably noticing that Sam doesn’t look as broken up and sleepless as he should, for somebody who lost his brother four months ago. Dean’s probably beating himself up for returning to a Sam who doesn’t appear to have missed him much.

Sam feels like he needs to apologize.

“Hey,” Sam says. “When you died, I really lost it for a while. You know? I tried everything I could think of to get you back. I swear I did.”

“I believe you, Sammy,” Dean says. He sounds sincere. Relieved, even. “It’s okay. I know you tried.”

“That spell I was gonna try wasn’t exactly a sure thing,” Sam says. “I was just getting desperate.”

“Stupid, more like,” Dean grumbles, but he seems appeased. “It’s okay, Sammy. I’m just glad you didn’t sell your soul.”

//**//**//

Sam lets Dean have the first shower when they get back to the hotel. Dean wrinkles his nose at the decor — leopard-print wallpaper and framed photographs of tigers — and heads straight into the bathroom.

“What the hell?”

Dean sounds freaked, and Sam dashes to the door of the bathroom to check on him.

Dean’s naked from the waist up, standing in the middle of the bathroom floor, staring into the mirror, at what looks like a huge welt in the shape of a hand on his left shoulder.

“What the hell is _that?_ ” Sam breathes.

Dean’s wide eyes meet Sam’s in the mirror. “It’s like something rode me out,” he says, panic in his voice.

“What?” Sam’s just as freaked.

“How the hell do I know? Some weird-ass demon, maybe?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “So you _were_ in Hell? You remember being in Hell?”

“No!” Dean glares. “I told you, I don’t remember a damn thing!”

Why does Sam get the feeling that Dean’s lying to him?

“Okay, okay,” Sam says, trying to soothe, desperate to get his emotions under control. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Just — take your shower. I’ll order us some pizzas.”

//**//**//

“So you haven’t seen any demons at all?” Dean asks later, after his shower. He smells so good it’s making Sam painfully hard. He’s trying his best not to think about how desperate he is for reunion sex, but he’s failing. Miserably. “What’s that all about? I mean, when I died, I thought I was leaving you to fight a demon army all on your own.” He shifts awkwardly in his chair, and Sam knows he’s feeling guilty.

Sam shakes his head, looking down at his pizza to hide his own discomfort. “None. Nada. I’ve just been hunting average run-of-the-mill monsters since you left.” He can’t bring himself to say the word “died,” especially since it had only felt like Dean was dead for the first few weeks, until his ghost finally appeared.

Those few weeks had felt like Hell, though. Sam won’t forget _that_ anytime soon.

“That’s really weird,” Dean says, taking another bite of his pizza. “Did you and Bobby come up with any theories?”

Sam shifts in his seat. “Not really,” he admits.

Dean drops his pizza. “Sam, how long has it been since you talked to Bobby?”

Sam makes a face. “He kinda wasn’t into any of my ideas for bringing you back, Dean,” he says.

“I gotta call him.”

Sam listens nervously as Dean calls Bobby, calls Bobby back when the old guy hangs up on him.

“It’s really him, Bobby,” Sam assures him, taking the phone from his brother when Bobby starts threatening to kill him. “He’s back. He insisted on calling you.”

“Sam, I swear to God, if you’ve used those freaky powers of yours to do something stupid...”

“I didn’t, Bobby, I swear. Just — here he is.” Sam hands the phone to Dean, who starts to tear up as soon as he hears Bobby’s voice.

Asshole didn’t cry when he first talked to _me_ , Sam can’t help thinking, then feels ashamed. Being jealous of Bobby is like being jealous of their dad.

Which Sam is, when he’s being honest with himself. He’s jealous of everyone Dean loves. He can’t help it.

“Something big, Bobby,” Dean says into the phone. “Whatever happened, it must’ve been huge. You should’ve seen the grave site. It was like a fuckin’ nuke went off.”

Dean listens for a minute, then nods. “It gets weirder. Something rode me out. It left this weird — scar? — on my left shoulder.”

He listens for another moment, then looks up at Sam, holding out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Sam, if you did this, then something is after you. And Dean. You do realize that, right?”

“I didn’t do it, Bobby, I swear,” Sam repeats. “I was headed back to the grave site when I found him, already out.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam can practically see Bobby’s eyes roll. “And that ghost you called me about a few months ago...”

“He’s gone,” Sam closes his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what that was, but it went away on its own. I don’t think I did anything? I just don’t know anymore, Bobby.”

“You talk to Pamela?”

“Not since yesterday,” Sam admits. “She doesn’t know Dean’s back. I mean, unless she _knows_ , you know?”

“This is dangerous, son,” Bobby warns. “Whatever’s happening here? It doesn’t sound good.”

“Right.”

“Okay, listen, you two get a good night’s sleep. I’ll be there in the morning and we’ll all head to Pamela’s together, all right? I want to get a look at that scar.”

“Okay.”

Bobby takes a deep breath. “And Sam, I hope you’ve done all the tests. Even if your Spidey-senses tell you this is Dean, that don’t mean it’s not.”

“Right.”

“What’d he say?” Dean asks as soon as Sam hangs up.

“He wants me to run the tests, make sure you’re really you.”

“Well, of course he does,” Dean nods. “I told you we should’ve done that in the first place.”

Sam shifts miserably in his chair. “The thing is, I really _do_ know,” he says. “I just don’t understand how you could’ve been in two places at once.”

“What are you talking about?”

Sam sighs. It’s not like he can keep this secret forever. Bobby knows. So does Pamela. It’ll be better if Dean hears it from Sam.

“You were here, Dean,” Sam says softly. “All those months when you should’ve been in Hell. You were here.”

Dean frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Sam winces. “Your ghost. Your ghost was here.”

Dean’s eyebrows go up, and Sam sighs. In for a penny.

“At least, I thought you were a ghost at first,” he goes on. “After we went to see Pamela, you got solid. You were _you,_ Dean, in every way. Maybe you don’t remember that now, but that’s what happened. You were my partner, just like always. We hunted, we did a lot of jobs, saved a lot of people, did what we usually do. Even killed a demon. Ruby. Then, last night you — faded and disappeared. It was like — you got called back to your body just before you resurrected.”

Dean stares, eyes wide. “That’s impossible,” he says, but Sam sees the confusion in his face.

“You remember?” Sam says, more excited than he should be.

Dean looks around the room, then back at Sam. “Did we stay here, another time?”

“Yeah, about three months ago,” Sam nods. “You made snarky comments about the decor and — “ Sam blushes. Dean’s comments hadn’t been exactly G-rated. “I called you an idiot.”

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t remember. It just _feels_ familiar. When you first mentioned it, I got a memory of this really sleazy motel.”

“That’s right,” Sam nods.

“What were we hunting?”

“We were hunting a ghost that was haunting an old hospital,” Sam says. “You wanted to try out your new skills, see if you could gank the ghost in the veil.”

“Huh.” Dean looks impressed. “Did it work?”

“You managed to tie the ghost up so it wouldn’t bother us, but I still had to dig up the body and burn the bones,” Sam says. “You couldn’t handle a shovel yet, so I did that part alone.”

Dean grimaces, then smirks. “No wonder you look so buff, Sammy.”

“Shut up.” Sam blushes again. “I need a shower. Bobby’s coming, so we should probably get some rest.”

He can feel Dean’s eyes on him as he heads to the bathroom. His skin prickles under his shirt, and he clenches his ass self-consciously. If Dean starts remembering what they did while his body was rotting in that grave, Sam’s not sure he can handle it. He’s sure as hell not going to tell Dean everything that happened while he wasn’t all topside. It fills Sam with shame to think that what happened between them while Dean was a ghost wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Dean felt tied to Sam, depended on Sam, was probably too tangled up to make an informed decision. If he’d been truly free, able to function independently, then what happened between them might never have happened.

Sam deliberately ignores his erection as he showers. He’s not about to indulge those feelings now, maybe not ever again. If Dean remembers, then they’ll deal with it, but he’s not going to take advantage of Dean’s amnesia. And he’ll make damn sure Dean gets every chance to make a very different choice about their relationship, should it ever come up.

When Sam returns to the room, Dean’s looking through his duffel. He looks nervous when he glances up at Sam, then he outright blushes when he looks down at Sam’s naked chest.

“You looking for something?” Sam asks, reaching for his own duffel to pull out a clean t-shirt and boxers.

“I just — some of this stuff is new,” Dean notes.

“Yeah,” Sam nods, dropping his towel so he can pull his boxers on. He can feel Dean glance at him, then look away. “We went shopping a few weeks ago. Salvation Army, Goodwill, the usual.”

“Huh.” Dean pulls out a t-shirt that has a Metallica logo on it. “Ghost-Me had good taste.”

Sam starts to pull on a t-shirt, realizes suddenly that he’s still wearing Dean’s amulet. He reaches up to his neck to slide it off and turns to find Dean right there, in his personal space, gazing up at him thoughtfully.

“I lied, Sam,” Dean says. His cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink. He parts his lips, licks them. “I do remember.”

Sam holds his breath as Dean lays his hand on Sam’s chest, over his heart. He holds perfectly still, dangling the amulet in one hand as he waits.

“I thought I was dreaming,” Dean goes on. “Consciously, I was in Hell, but I — I don’t want to talk about that.”

Sam swallows, and Dean’s eyes track the movement. His thumb slides over Sam’s nipple, and Sam sucks in a shuddering breath.

“When the torturing stopped for the day — When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed,” Dean says, voice slightly hoarse again. “You and me, hunting, doing all the things we do. As well as a few things we never did before.”

Dean’s eyes rise to Sam’s, shiny with tears. Sam watches as a single tear rolls down Dean’s right cheek.

“Those dreams kept me sane, Sammy,” he says. “I don’t think I would’ve made it without them.”

Sam’s throat closes up. He fights the urge to cry. He can see the suffering in Dean’s face, can only imagine what Dean’s been through.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispers past the lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean takes the last step, so they’re almost chest-to-chest. He slides his hands up Sam’s arms to his neck, holds his face, presses his index finger to Sam’s lips, and shakes his head.

“Not your fault, Sam,” he says, his voice a quiet growl. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat, knowing you’d be here waiting for me when I got back. I’d spend an eternity in Hell, if I knew you were safe.”

“Dean, I didn’t know,” Sam chokes out. “I wasn’t sure you were really you or something I made up in my head to replace you. Like a tulpa. Or maybe something worse. And I just wanted you back so bad, it didn’t even matter if you were some kind of monster. I — I’m sorry.”

The confession makes Sam’s chest ache, makes his eyes fill with tears.

“Shhh.” Dean presses his finger against Sam’s lips again, tips his head down so Dean can reach his mouth. “It’s okay, Sammy. I’m here now. You saved me.”

As his lips meet Dean’s, Sam doesn’t think too hard about how different he feels. Dean’s mouth is warm and wet, his skin firm and real. There’s nothing of the ghost about him now.

This is one-hundred-percent all Dean.

Sam lays Dean out on the bed, kisses down his unscarred chest, pulls his boxers off and swallows Dean down without hesitating. Having him back in one piece, all of him, feels too good to be true. Sam can’t get enough. Can’t stop.

Dean moans and arches under him, obviously fighting the urge to thrust into Sam’s mouth. Sam lets his cock go so he can kiss down between Dean’s thighs to his hole, tongues it while Dean keens, pulls his knees back to give Sam better access.

“Hey, Sammy, you gonna take m’cherry?” Dean gasps. “I think I got re-hymenated downstairs. M’body’s brand new again.”

“Oh my God, shut up!” Sam’s cock hardens painfully. It’s not like he knew Dean’s body intimately before he went to Hell, but he did know most of Dean’s scars, since he’d stitched up a lot of his wounds over the years. And yes, he’s noticed how smooth and scarless Dean’s skin is now. It might be weird, might be yet another reason he should test to be sure Dean isn’t a shapeshifter.

But again, Sam just doesn’t care. He’s too grateful to have Dean back.

And begging to be fucked, no less.

If he didn’t know that Dean’d been in Hell the past four months, Sam would feel like the luckiest man alive.

It takes a while to work him open enough for Sam’s cock, but when Sam finally sinks inside Dean’s tight, hot channel, he doesn’t last long. Being reunited, physically as well as psychically connected, is just too much for Sam. He comes long and hard, making more noise than he should, and it’s only when he’s beginning to come down that he realizes Dean’s come, too.

As he rolls off and heads to the bathroom for a washcloth, Dean lies naked on the bed, spread out and so vulnerable it makes Sam pause for a minute when he gets back, just to gaze. Dean’s face is flushed, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling as he snores lightly, and Sam’s struck for the millionth time by how beautiful and alive he is. He’ll never, never forget how it felt to hold Dean’s dead body in his arms, and though he’s done it more times than he wants to count, it was that final time in Indiana that will stay with him forever.

Even the time Dean died senselessly in the parking lot in Florida doesn’t measure up. Sam buried him that time, too, determined to find a way to get him back. During those horrible six months until he found the Trickster, Sam dreamed about Dean every night. He caught glimpses of him just out of the corner of his eye every day. Sam thinks maybe Dean’s ghost was with him then, too, just never able to fully manifest.

He’s never told Dean about those six months. He probably never will.

Dean mutters in his sleep as Sam cleans his belly, then drops the washcloth on the floor and climbs into the bed. As Sam slides his arm around his brother, Dean turns on his side and snuggles back against Sam so that he’s spooned in Sam’s arms, sighing contentedly.

Dean would never admit it, but he loves to cuddle. He loves letting Sam hold him like this. Sam knows this because Dean’s been doing this regularly ever since this began. Dean feels safe in Sam’s arms.

And when he wakes up screaming with Hell memories, Sam will be right there to soothe him.

Tomorrow, Bobby will come and they’ll all head south to visit Pamela. Sam can almost see Pamela’s expression when she opens the door to find Dean there, in the flesh this time. It makes Sam jealous, even though he knows Dean’s his.

Nothing and nobody will ever come between them again.

Sam will make sure of it.

_fin_


End file.
